


Daylight

by hihilumin, IamHobbes



Series: Save Your Breath [6]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: AAAAAAAAAAAA, Angst with a Happy Ending, HQSwiftWeek2020, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Minor Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, medium rare angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26520679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihilumin/pseuds/hihilumin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamHobbes/pseuds/IamHobbes
Summary: “He wanted to love you.” he says before he can stop himself. He wills himself to look up at him, standing in the ashes of what they tried so hard to make beautiful.(Coward, he thinks, before realizing, sick to his stomach, that he doesn’t know whom he’s referring to anymore.)“We both did.” Daichi replies, a little too forcefully through gritted teeth. “Sometimes love isn’t enough.”A beat passes. Kenma hangs his head. “You don’t need to tell me that.”
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Series: Save Your Breath [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921648
Comments: 11
Kudos: 34





	Daylight

(He’s in class when he gets the message.

> From: Bokuto-san  
>  Kuroo is missing. No one’s heard from him in days

He leaves his lecture hall abruptly; crumples, tears hot and furious against pallid cheeks.)

_ And I don't wanna think of anything else now that I thought of you  
_ _ Things will never be the same _

Kenma wakes up in Kuroo’s apartment.

Light, harsh and unwelcome, streams in through filtered blinds. He rubs at the morning in his eyes before trying to zero in on any change to his surroundings; he finds none, sighing, and leans against the living room couch. 

It’s been this way for two weeks, now: Daichi’s moved out, gone home, somewhere or other, but still –– sleeping in a bed that was once his,  _ theirs _ leaves an awful taste in his mouth, and not as much sleep; he’ll tolerate the uneven couch for as long as he has to. Kenma yawns, arms outstretched in thin air before finding their way back to his sides limp, and then he stands to make himself some tea.

The way he reminds himself to step lightly over the futon laid out on the floor serves also as the reminder that he isn’t alone: Bokuto and Akaashi are so tightly intertwined amidst the small comforter that Kenma can’t help the pang of jealousy that hits his chest –– he can’t imagine how easily it must be, to find and accept your other half wholeheartedly (he thought he had that already; he supposes not). 

Still, he’s grateful for their company, recalling how insistent the grey-haired boy had been that Kenma not spend another night in the apartment alone.

(“I’d tried talking to him, you know.” There’s an uncharacteristic quietness in Bokuto’s voice that has Kenma frowning as they set up the mattress; there’s a sense of guilt that possesses Kuroo’s friend, typically just as loud and boisterous as he is, but Kenma listens intently for what leaves his mouth next.

“I–– I could tell he wasn’t really happy.” Bokuto smoothes out a corner in haste. “And I told him that, but you know Kuroo and he, he just didn’t  _ listen–– _ ”

“Mm.” Kenma nods. He’s no stranger to that.

> “Kuro––?”   
>  “Kenma, we’re  _ fine _ .”

“Thank you, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto looks up. Kenma finally finds it in him to meet his gaze and offer a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but he’s certain Bokuto will understand. 

For now, it will have to be enough.)

“Oh, Kenma.” Akaashi’s voice startles him from the kitchen; shoulders hunch up on instinct, only to relax when the other enters frame. “You’re already up.”

Kenma nods; he hadn’t even bothered to check what time it was –– the long nights he’d been having were only punctuated by his lack of sleep. “I’m making tea.” he says, as both means of explanation and invitation, and Akaashi quietly pulls up a chair by the counter in understanding. He’s always liked that about Akaashi, who seemed to be in thought just as often as he was.

He spares a quick glance in the sleeping Bokuto’s direction; Akaashi’s eyes follow, too, though his gaze lingers. Kenma smiles knowingly, in spite of himself. “It must be nice,” he muses aloud. “for things to be so easy.” 

Akaashi turns back to him with a start; the look he gives him is almost akin to pity, but on the other Kenma finds he doesn’t particularly mind it. There’s an uncharacteristic flush that plays across his cheeks, but at the mere implication of Bokuto in conversation there’s no mistaking the way the other setter’s eyes come alight in tender fondness. 

“Ah, well.” he begins. “It isn’t always as simple. For starters ––” they’re interrupted by a loud snore coming from the other side of the room; Akaashi smiles. “Bokuto-san is … Bokuto-san.” he offers a tiny gesture towards himself. “And I’m me. That doesn’t always work as perfectly as people would expect it to.”

Kenma frowns at that; from all the times he’s seen the pair, they’ve appeared as nothing if not dazzling –– Akaashi bringing something like glory out in Bokuto that no volleyball win could ever awaken, and Bokuto does the same. It’s hard to imagine them as anything but seamless.

It appears Akaashi senses his confusion; he offers him another knowing look before shifting his glance back on the boy in the futon. “But I suppose that’s what makes it work, too.” he continues. “I need him. And he needs me.” His gaze flickers back to Kenma.

“I’m sure you know what that’s like.”

If Akaashi notices the way Kenma’s eyes widen, ever so slightly, he doesn’t make a mention of it, proceeding to finally sip the tea from the cup nestled in his hand. There’s silence that lapses between them, but it isn’t uncomfortable, and for the first time in weeks Kenma feels some semblance of rest.

––––

Bokuto and Akaashi stay with him one more night; a few nights later it’s Lev and Yaku who step in as substitutes (he’s less enthralled about this combination, but Lev is surprisingly tactful enough to keep quiet most of the time, and during the moments he isn’t Yaku is quick to thump the back of his head). It’s familiar enough that he doesn’t feel as close to losing his mind as he possibly might’ve without their company, and Kenma’s quietly grateful.

The gratefulness comes to an abrupt halt when one afternoon he gets Akaashi’s text informing him that Daichi will be spending the night with him.

The dark circles under the former Karasuno captain’s eyes are eerily familiar; Kenma saw them line Kuroo’s features months ago, and he sees them under his own now every morning. Seeing him in person for the first time in ages (without Kuroo’s company, too, no less) strikes within Kenma a mixture of guilt and discomfort he’s not nearly willing to address.

He’s never been one to like making mistakes  _ –– who does? _ –– but it’s another thing to have to face it like this. And although it’s irrational of him he can’t help the hate that stirs up within him at the sight of the other, even if he knows he’s just as much to blame here, he’s done just as much damage.

(Perhaps it’s because he hates himself so much, too much already.)

It’s something like 3 in the morning, unholy. The quiet is so awkward, so painful.

“Um –– Kozume.”  
“Kenma.”

Daichi sighs, tries again. “Kenma. Do you–– Is there anything I can do––?”  
And Kenma doesn’t mean to be cold or ungracious when he replies, “You’ve done enough, thanks.” but the defensiveness in him rises by the minute; the walls surrounding him feel smaller and smaller.

“Sawamura-san––” he means to apologize ( _maybe?_ _does he?_ ), but his voice is a little too loud, too _condescending_ without him meaning it to be, and Daichi’s just about had enough of it, too.

“Don’t act like he was only yours, Kenma-san. Don’t lie to yourself.”

The sudden sharpness in the other’s tone feels like a slap to the face, and normally he’s better at keeping his cool but it’s past three weeks since Kuroo’s been home and Kenma doesn’t need this, not right now. 

“He wanted to love you.” he says before he can stop himself. He wills himself to look up at him, standing in the ashes of what they tried so hard to make beautiful.   
( _ Coward _ , he thinks, before realizing, sick to his stomach, that he doesn’t know whom he’s referring to anymore.)

“We both did.” Daichi replies, a little too forcefully through gritted teeth. “Sometimes love isn’t enough.”

A beat passes. Kenma hangs his head. “You don’t need to tell  _ me _ that.”

> (It’s 4:12 a.m. 
> 
> His phone buzzes.   
>  "kenma daichi and i are over i'm sorry i'm sorry i love you i'm sorry" 
> 
> Twice.   
>  "i'm outside and I see the light from your window, please let me in, kenma,  _ kenma _ . i'm sorry." 
> 
> Thrice.   
>  "I love you"
> 
> And Kenma knows Kuroo, knows he wants to be selfless, to mend what’s been broken, to try and save everyone the way he always wants to.  
>  But he can’t make this mistake (Kenma wonders what the mistake he’s referring to in the first place is) and come back, just like that, even –– and especially –– if he wants him to.)

_ My love was as cruel as the cities I lived in  
_ _ Everyone looked worse in the light _

“So we have  _ something _ we agree on.” Daichi sighs again. Kenma watches as he stands from across the table and turns his back on him as he continues, “We need to focus. On finding Kuroo. And then you can pretend I was never here. That’s what you want, right?”

The logical part of Kenma says he ought to agree;  _ play nice _ , he thinks, common goal.  _ Common goal _ .   
And maybe that was the problem: he and Daichi shared  _ too much _ of a common goal, to the point that seeing him now walk back to a bedroom that was once his ––  _ theirs _ –– curdles something like white hot rage in his stomach, like acid on his tongue.

“I don’t care.” and maybe his words sound childish, in hindsight, but it’s true; he  _ doesn’t _ care, not anymore. Daichi stops in his tracks at the sudden harshness in an otherwise monotone voice, but Kenma can feel the tension rising in him, too, and it only spurs him on further. “ _ You’re _ not the one I want here right now.”

Oh, and Daichi  _ glares _ at him, then; Kenma watches his hands ball up into fists. Blood rushes; heart pumping. There's too much red in this room, and he wants to lose it, thinks:  _ fuck playing nice _ .

Thinks: This is pointless.  
Thinks: Kuroo, damn it, come  _ home _ .

“Do you think you’re the only one who cares about him?” Daichi snaps. “Don’t you think I could bring him home if I could? I’m  _ fucking _ tired, too.” Each word is a dagger, hitting Kenma  _ exactly _ where it hurts.

“He chose me too, Kozume-san. Please don’t forget that.”

_ Luck of the draw only draws the unlucky  
_ _ And so I became the butt of the joke _

And it’s when Daichi’s tiredness seeps through even Kenma’s anger that the younger boy realizes,  _ oh _ ––   
He’d spent so much time missing Kuroo, wishing him back,  _ praying _ him back, that he forgot he wasn’t alone in this –– not in the slightest.    
  


_ I’m sorry for being selfish _ , he thinks,  _ but can you blame me? _

_ Maybe you ran with the wolves and refused to settle down  
_ _ Maybe I've stormed out of every single room in this town _

So Kenma saves his breath and swallows back all the acid, the bitter, the  _ anger _ . He clears his throat.

“... Daichi.” he inhales shakily, “I’m sorry.” 

(One night, one choice, one mistake that wasn't really a mistake, it couldn't possibly be a mistake, and ––  
"I love … him. I love him."   
"Then why are you still here.")

“... he cares about you a lot.” Kenma continues; stiff, but not insincere. He watches as Daichi’s fists begin to relax and fall at his side, and he feels his own shoulders coming to droop, to rest. 

Surrender.

“Yeah, well.” Daichi goes from tense to tired, softening. “He cares about you most.” Kenma knows, all too well: Sawamura isn’t a bad person. Kuroo wouldn’t be with him if he were.  
He’s just as lost as they all were.

_ Kuroo _ , he suddenly thinks.  _ You have no idea how loved you are _ .

"I know this is hard. For  _ both _ of us.” Daichi tells him, rubbing at his nape. “I just. I don't hate you, Kozume-san. I never have." Kenma swallows thickly. "I know how he loves you … how I could never compare. So let’s just help each other.” A quiet pause. “Is that –– is that okay, Kenma?”

Kenma peers up at Daichi thoughtfully, and as he speaks, he sees why Kuroo wanted to love him; he understands.   
He understands: there's a difference between an enemy and someone who has something you love. 

Daichi just wants Kuroo home.   
It's not too bad to have a common goal, Kenma realizes.  _ Not all the time. _

"... he cares for both of us." he decides firmly, but it doesn't really contradict what's been said; besides, at this point, he's done lying. Instead he stays quiet, breathing in the cracked air, cracked tension beginning to subside –– slow, slowly. 

“I’m sorry.” Kenma says again. “For … for how it ended, with you two. I didn’t––” (didn’t want it? no; no more lies) “I didn’t want you ending … like that.” he exhales. “I don’t hate you either.”

“No, it’s––” (Alright? No, Kenma thinks; no more lies on Daichi’s end, either.) “It’s over now. There … there isn’t anything we can do about that.”

He watches Daichi try for a smile; it’s tight-lipped and comes out as more of a grimace than anything, really, but he knows better than to expect better in these times. “So,” he tries, one more time, and extends his hand; for now, hopefully, ever. “We’re good?”

Sometimes it kills Kenma, staying in this apartment for as long as he has now; being surrounded by Kuroo, by an almost him. Every corner, every crevice; no place is unmarked by him, reminding him of guilt, guilt,  _ guilt _ . 

(He realizes, then, how grateful he is to Daichi: that tonight, three weeks after he'd gone, is the first time he hadn’t felt  _ lonely _ .)

They’re making progress, he thinks. And while they’ll never be the best of friends, this is probably good; this’ll probably work.

For now, hopefully, ever.

He takes Daichi’s hand, his own small against those of others', against Daichi's which are firm and ––  _ hesitant _ ? he thinks, it  _ seems _ , and he understands, because god be damned if he isn't hesitant too. 

But it's worth a shot.   
(He supposes, for Kuroo, it always is.) 

"We're good." he whispers, and that's that.  
And now they wait.

_ I wounded the good and I trusted the wicked  
_ _ Clearing the air, I breathed in the smoke _

_ Threw out our cloaks and our daggers because it's morning now  
_ _ It's brighter now _

––––

When Kuroo comes home, after weeks of radio silence and collective panic amidst loved ones, Kenma is tired. Kenma is also furious.

He can tell he isn’t expecting anyone home at the apartment; his own heart had stopped when he’d heard the jingle of keys from the other side of the door, afraid to look like the impostor he felt he was. But when he sees him, suitcase in hand and clothes mussed from travel, all Kuroo does is  _ stare _ .

Neither of them can bring themselves to say hi, and the moment lasts forever.

The quiet is so palpable and alien, and Kenma  _ hates _ it, this looking to the boy he loves and seeing a stranger in his stead. The throw pillow in his hand is clenched so tightly it might burst.

And when Kuroo –– get this –– when Kuroo  _ sighs _ , turns his back on him and moves to the bedroom to pack, Kenma’s just about done with that, too.

"You just left." The words are as loud as he can bring them, but the anger's there; a hitch in the tone that won't go away. "No text or call or –– you were just. gone.” ( _ You just left me _ .)

"What did you expect?" Kuroo retorts –– they’re his first words since coming home but already the sarcasm is acid, thick in the tone. "I'm a coward, aren't I?" And he’s so  _ angry _ , the walls around him rising up and blocking out even the things he holds most dear.

He’s a stranger, Kenma thinks. To him. To himself.

He stands. "You could've gotten  _ hurt _ ." he says, as stoically as he can manage, but Kenma's so  _ tired _ , and the white fury turns to red in the face of Kuroo’s indifference. "Killed or injured or god knows what, and  _ no one _ would even know where you were. How do you think that would make m––" ( _ How do you think that would make me feel? _ ) "–– everyone feel? You--" (You  _ are _ a coward.) 

"–– I was so ..." he clears his throat; no,  _ no _ . " _ We _ were all so worried.”

“So what?” Kuroo retorts; he doesn’t stop walking away from him. “If I got hurt or didn’t come back; what’s the point?”

Kenma wants to scream. “What do you mean, so what?” He stands now, too, walking towards him –– an unspoken plea,  _ come back; who are you in the guise of the boy I would trade the world for? _ “You can’t just leave us––” and he shakes his head vigorously because fuck it,  _ whatever _ . “You can’t just leave  _ me _ then say ‘so what, Kuroo, what the  _ fuck _ ?”

“What’s the point?  _ What’s the point? _ ” he’s wide-eyed, incredulous; he hates this boy standing in Kuroo’s place. Fury spills over, and Kenma is engulfed, glaring at him dead in the eye. “I’ve been here for  _ weeks _ . And now all you want to do is leave again.” his tone rises, breaks free from the monotone trap his emotions find themselves so often enshrouded by. "Don't you dare tell me not to worry about you." he finishes, coldly, bitterly. fighting back the tears that form at the corners of his eyes. “That's not your choice to make."

_ There are so many lines that I've crossed unforgiven  
_ _ I'll tell you the truth, but never goodbye _

“You don’t get it!” And Kuroo’s voice rings across the apartment, rings in his head, the same way he broke Kenma’s chest and split it wide open. 

“I fucked up, okay? I fucked up!” Even when he bellows, Kuroo is trembling. “I left because I fuckins cheated on my boyfriend, because he didn’t love me, because I love  _ you _ , because I was too cowardly to say so, because I’m just trying my best, god damn it––” so quick, so rash, Kenma remembers:  _ rock bottom _ .

“So save your breath, Kenma, save your  _ fucking _ breath!”  
He's seething; he's crying; they're falling apart. 

“I don’t know who you think I am, I don’t–– I can’t be what  _ anyone _ wants from me anymore, alright? I’m a fucking coward.” Shoulders rise and fall with every breath, heavy and ragged, unraveling at the seams. “And I can’t stay here, I can’t –– not where I’ve got nothing left.”

The words echo back to Kenma as if from far away: his words,  _ their _ words, almost like an inside joke between two people who’d known each other for ages. now used against him like bullets from a stranger. 

The tears come, hot and fast and angry as he can be, and Kenma is so  _ tired _ . And his head falls between his knees, and he’s shaking, trembling. 

From his peripheral he sees Kuroo’s white flag from a mile away; he sees the surrender in his eyes and hears it in every syllable of his words and he knows it, knows it all too well, because he feels the same way too. But Kuroo is the blood in his veins –– keeps his mind working, the oxygen moving. 

(Gives his heart — him — a reason to keep going.)

“You have me.” words are barely audible when they leave his mouth to his knees, but his message is firm: “You have me,  _ always _ –– I thought it was the one thing you’d never forget.”

“I’m sorry.” he whispers, unsure if Kuroo can hear him, not when he can barely hear himself. “I love you, I love you, Kuroo.  _ Kuro _ .” he looks up; meets his eyes, searching for him somewhere, anywhere,  _ please _ .

Kenma saves his breath. “You have us.”   
He prays it’s worth it.

_ I don't wanna look at anything else now that I saw you  
_ _ Things will never be the same _

  
  


There’s a moment of silence, so horrifying, so loud.

But even louder is the way Kuroo’s knees fall to the floor, anger fizzling out into desperation as hands, tentative, reach for his. Kenma flinches at first but eases into them, slowly; he feels his chest clench inside of him, his ribs pressed painfully against his heart –– ready, so ready to burst.

He can hear Kuro think,  _ how _ –– how can he fix this, the mess he made, they made together? He hears him realize to himself, he is essential;  _ they _ are essential to each other.

He’ll never make that same mistake again.

( _ I am the blood in your veins; keep the oxygen moving, the mind working ––   
_ _ but when the blood runs cold, and the body begins to crumble, would you mind if I saved my breath and just  
_ _ gave my heart to you. _ )

“Kenma.” They’re eye level now; Kuroo thumbs at Kenma’s cheeks, wiping away the tears stained like bullets. Kenma nestles into his touch. “I didn’t mean to–– Of course you’re here, I–– I never,  _ never  _ meant to hurt you.”

A shaky exhale. “I’m so sorry; I should never have left.” Kuroo's brows knit together, from anger to concern to tenderness; he moves to cradle the boy, moves to envelope him and hold him tightly; to never, never let go. “I’m sorry, Kenma. I love you. I love  _ you _ .”

And Kenma winces at the touch, almost –– but then finds himself surrounded in Kuroo's warmth. He feels the tears that stain his cheeks wiped away, washed away by something stronger –– better. 

(It's amazing, to some, how in sync they are –– because one look is all it takes, and the other knows exactly how the other thinks, feels.  
Because coexistence is  _ nothing _ compared to them; living and breathing and  _ being _ , one and two as one, always.   
Always.) 

He realizes that for him, Kuroo has always been best.   
(even at his worst/ lowest/ ugliest/ cruelest –– Kenma needs him more than he ever thought he would possibly allow.)

And he feels the efforts, the fight inside Kuroo, as anyone standing close enough to him would; unshakable, persistent, stubborn. Stubborn fight, stubborn love.   
(And Kenma wants to drown himself in it –– in him. As if he hasn't already.) 

_ I love you, Kenma. I love you. _

The tears start again, constant and flowing and moving, like blood, like  _ him _ , and Kenma has to remember to breathe; to save his breath, make sure he never loses it again; him again; them again. 

“Kuro." Breathe. P–– please don't run from home anymore." he takes Kuroo's hand; it feels familiar. feels like home. 

_ Together _ , Kenma thinks, saving his breath. Together, home. Rebuilding, starting anew. Fighting –– fighting, until they win. 

_Together, home_. 

And Kenma lets out a sigh, because yes,  _ yes _ .

As it should be.

_ I once believed love would be burning red  
_ _ But it's golden like daylight, like daylight _

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
